


him

by sugar_is_poison



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mental Instability, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Smut, Tutor AU, a Lot of mentions of cigs, adding tags as I go, horny!tendou, no beta we die like men, no more tags bc spoilers!, oooo fuck yea that's for u tendou babs, sad!ushi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugar_is_poison/pseuds/sugar_is_poison
Summary: a cigarette burnt halfway, a pocket watch ticking, and humming of a tune with no particular name.what a perfect afternoon.tutor au for ushi and tendou. in which a sky child encounters a man as unbreakable as an ox.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 85
Collections: Haikyuu!! Fics





	1. fantastical burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s zoning out again. For the fourth time today.

He’s zoning out again. For the fourth time today. 

I sigh dramatically. That doesn’t quite bring his gaze back to me. It’s still glued on the window. Wonder what’s outside. 

He is in his usual attire—black suit with a silky tie (usually of dark colors). Today the tie is a dark navy—someone’s not in the mood for fun. It’s immature for me to associate emotions and colors I know, but it’s second nature nonetheless. He positions himself on the leather chair with an effortless beauty in his form, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Both of his elbows rest on the arms of the chair, with one hand dropped naturally and the other up in midair, holding a cigarette. His head is turned to look out the window, so I have a brilliant view of his side profile. He must be aware of how irresistible he looks, right? His black brows thick, dark green eyes half-lidded with absolutely no emotions, thin lips neither forming a smile nor a scowl. His features are marvelous, I think I’ve definitely seen those on an alabaster figure before. But he’s hard to read. 

To be honest it is kind of rude for him to do this. He is the tutor my family is  _ paying _ for, afterall. Yet he sits here all day looking out the window. 

A breeze lifts up the corner of the white linen curtain, like a curious little child. The smoke rising straight up from his cigarette shifts in its course of movement temporarily. 

“You’re staring again.” 

He suddenly speaks. His voice a low baritone, and serious. He always sounds serious. 

“Am not.” 

“You are.” 

“Am  _ not _ .” 

He sighs. 

I smirk. 

“Have you figured it out yet?” 

I am startled. Shit, completely zoned out when he was asking. Was definitely staring. Ah, but all the better for me. 

“Hmm… Eighteen… forty… three?” 

“And that’s your answer to…?” 

“I don't know, whatever you just said.” 

I fold my arms, pouting. Sometimes this works with some of them, but clearly not him. But it was worth a try.

“The western samurais during the Boshin War, which areas were they predominantly from?” 

He speaks with sophistication. When he does, his lips barely move, other muscles on his face look completely still. He's like a machine, but breathing and living and always smoking. The only major movements he makes happen whenever he takes a drag out of that half-burnt-out cigarette. It’s fascinating to watch, really. 

“Your cigarette is burning out, sensei.”

I point at his left hand, which is holding the little round stick, ash accumulating at the end more and more by the second. I want to see him take another drag. 

He finally peels his eyes off the window and back at me. 

“What are the areas that the western samurais are predominantly from during the Boshin War?” 

His voice stays calm and even. He doesn’t back down. Of course he doesn’t. It would be boring if he did. He would become one of his predecessors. And that is no fun. He is like a hard stone, maybe a diamond (because of how shiny and delicious he looks), impossible to drill through. 

And that makes it all the more fun to break him down. Or at least to make an attempt to. 

I push the papers in front of me out of the way, and fold my arms on the table. I rest my head on them, facing down. Now all I can see are my legs and shoes. 

“I—don’t—know,” I sing-song, intentionally closing my eyes. 

Silence. 

I count in the back of my brain. One, two, three… Seventy six, seventy eight… One hundred and eighty two, one hundred and eighty three, one hundred and eighty four… 

Must have been at least five minutes now? It’s still complete silence. 

Then a rustle. Of clothes. In the direction of the corner of the room. From him. Then leather being pushed together in that squeaky noise—it’s the chair he’s sitting in. Now footsteps. He’s walking towards me, no doubt. 

My entire body tenses up with anticipation. I still don’t know him well enough to predict what he will do to me yet. A smack on my head? A pull of my hair? Both make me want to shiver. 

_ Pleasepleasepleasegiveitimdyingforit _ .

Steady now. 

But still nothing happens. 

It’s crazy how different he is from the others, that I’ll concede. 

I decide to give up for the day—more opportunities await in the future. 

I turn my head sideways, and open an eye to peek. It’s a perfect picture in front of me. 

He’s leaning on the table, practically right next to me. His upper body is slouched a little bit, but it still looks tall and huge. He is facing away from the table, probably looking at the wall of the bookcase standing behind me, full of crap that no one else in this family reads. His hands are supporting his body by holding the side of the table. Oh god his hands. 

In the short dozen of days that I’ve known him, his hands are what attract me the most. I guess it’s the way they are horrifyingly big. Maybe he had played sports before. Those long, bony fingers are curled around the table, a pure silver ring on his thumb—so not married. I can’t get the idea of those hands on my neck out of my head. Inappropriate, I know. But so,  _ so _ good. My belly feels warm. 

And his left hand--which I gradually came to know to be his dominant hand, still holds that cigarette. 

That goddamn  _ cigarette _ . 

Jealousy surges in me. A cigarette gets more than I do. 

I snatch it from between his fingers, the ash falling on the back of my hand from the sudden movement. 

I hiss. 

He shifts his gaze lazily to me. He really cannot care less. 

Looking right in the dark olive eyes of his, I hold up the cigarette to my mouth, hand trembling. From the burn or excitement, or the excitement from the burn, I cannot tell. 

He lifts a brow, as if daring me to do it. 

_ Jackpot _ . 

I take a long drag from the cigarette. I watch the tobacco burn closer and closer to the filter, and am still inhaling. I roll my eyes back as I feel the smoke expanding my lungs, fuller and fuller by the second. And when I finally reach the limit and my body feels like exploding… 

I let go. Blowing the smoke right into his face. 

Coughing. Painful. Need water. Burning. Too much. Exciting. 100% turned on. Thank goodness I’m sitting. 

He doesn’t falter—I’m disappointed. I thought he would at least ask if I was okay? I guess I put too much hope in h-

“What…”

He opens his mouth to speak again. I’m all ears. Heart pounding hard in my chest. Feels like I’m going to faint from the buzz of nicotine. Even more so from his words. Please be kind. 

“What are the top three areas, that the western samurais were from, in the Boshin War?” 

Oh fuck me. 

Of course, it should be pointed out that I know the answer. It’s not that I’m stupid. I just want a reaction from him, like I always do from the rest of them. 

“Chōshū, Satsuma and Tosa,” I mumble with defeat. I hate failures. 

“Good,” His voice is deep. His tone doesn’t change, not one single bit. Doesn’t matter what he’s talking about. Or what he is feeling. 

The cigarette burns out. 

* * *

Tendou Satori is not unintelligent. If anything, he is everything of the opposite. When I first heard about him needing a tutor, I imagined a rich brat who’s up to no good. But that’s not Tendou. At least, not completely. What he seeks exactly, I don’t know. But the past two weeks have proven to me that not only does he know the material, but there is a high possibility that he memorized mostly everything in the textbook. Yet he keeps failing high school Japanese History. So I was intrigued. 

If it was for any other student, I would’ve turned the offer away. It’s simply a waste of my time and their money. But money is the last thing the Tendou family is worried about. The gasoline pipeline magnate based in Miyagi holds extraordinary wealth that commoners like me cannot fathom. Plus, Tendou is interesting, for a variety of reasons. 

For instance, him coughing his lungs up from inhaling too much smoke from my cigarette right now. I look on with fascination as the young boy’s shoulders heaved with pain. He looks up at me, eyes showing nothing close to pain or regret. 

“What…” 

His eyes lit up with pure excitement. Is he excited because of my words? 

“What are the top three areas, that the western samurais were from, in the Boshin War?” I ask, looking directly into those small, dark red pupils. They fired up when I said the first few words, then immediately died down. His eyelids fell with disappointment. Did I say something wrong? 

“Chōshū, Satsuma and Tosa,” Tendou managed to squeeze a few words out of his mouth. 

“Good.” 

The cigarette burns out. 

I hold out my hand, waiting for Tendou to give back the cigarette stub to throw away. 

“Can I keep it?” the young boy mumbles, still not looking at me. 

I frown. A cigarette stub? 

“Why would you want it?”

“No reason,” Tendou finally looks up at me. His eyes are the most expressive. Whether it be his irises shifting between shades of red or his pupils widening and contracting, Tendou’s eyes sometimes speak more than his lips. And now, his eyes are begging. 

This walks dangerously closely to a line that I thought I already buried deep enough in my mind somewhere. 

“No,” I refuse. Maybe I answered a little faster than intended. 

Tendou’s eyes drift away, out the window. He holds out the cigarette stub, waiting for me to take it. His fingers are thin and long, like those of a lady’s. His skin is pale, and I can clearly see the turquoise veins showing up on the back of his hands. I take the stub away, accidentally brushing over his fingers. They tremble. 

I have to say I am a little surprised. Looking at Tendou’s reddening earlobes, I tilt my head. What is the meaning of this? Do I really have such a forceful impact on Tendou? 

I lower my eyelids. This is not good. He should not have reacted this way. Out of everyone, I should know how dangerous it is to get involved in a relationship of this sort. 

“Let’s end here today,” I say, throwing the stub in the trash can by the desk Tendou is now sulking on. 

“Wha- This early?” Tendou whips his head up, brows furrowed in a cartoonish way, eyes round with disappointment. 

“It’s not early anymore, Tendou,” I take out my pocket watch from the vest pocket. It reads 5:19 pm, “I ran almost twenty minutes overtime.”

Tendou stays silent. I turn on my heels, and head towards the leather chair I was sitting in earlier. I start gathering my textbook and notes into the briefcase resting by the foot of my chair. The late summer sun has cast its warmth on this corner of the room for a solid two hours, and the leather chair is hot to the touch. The cicadas are buzzing loudly outside, as if they want to grasp summer by its wiggly tail and make it last forever. The only release from this heat is the occasional breeze coming through the window. 

I head towards the door, half expecting Tendou to ignore me on my way out. He has done this quite a few times now, sulking the moment I announce that class is over and acting as if a child throwing a temper tantrum, ignoring everything I say that comes afterwards. It’s not exactly appropriate or courteous to let your guest walk out of the door alone, but then again, I never expected that much from him. Sometimes though, I am curious. I want to look inside his head under those flaming crimson hair to figure out just what he really wants. 

The young boy sighs, which stops me in my tracks. A change of habit today, I see. “I will walk you out, sensei.”

“Is that necessary?” I ask, turning around to look at him. My question is clearly the only thing that’s truly unnecessary: Tendou pushes himself away from the table on the chair and stands up. 

The young boy is tall and skinny, his presence bizarrely threatening. He walks past me, and leans on the closed door, efficiently blocking my way out. I raise an eyebrow. 

“Tendou?” I ask, “what is the meaning of this?”

“I won’t let you go like this,” he answers. And it must be for how confused my face looks, because Tendou stifles a laugh. He looks up, eyes mischievous and alluring, the red so saturated that I think they’re going to melt because of how much heat is flickering inside them. “Kiss me, please, sensei.”

I am stunned. 

That is not to say this is something out of Tendou’s prankster-esque character, but that it catches me by surprise. Much surprise. 

I try opening my mouth, but nothing comes out. Again, with Tendou, all logic fails.

“You mustn’t tell me that you did all that back there, thinking it wouldn’t have an influence on me?” Words pour from his curved lips, “You are truly an evil man, Mr. Ushijima.”

“Me?” my throat feels tight and dry. 

“ _ You _ . Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Tendou reaches his right hand out, and rests his fingertips on my chest. They caress my silk tie. “I wonder if there’s anything going on in here at all, when you blow those smoke rings. Or when you nurse that burnt cigarette stub with so much care. Or when you ask me about the fucking western samurais for the  _ third  _ time in a row,” I wince at the profane word spoken so starkingly loud and open, “They have done worse things to me, you know.”

“Tendou, I can’t catch up with your thinking,” I confess. I try my best to swallow down my heart, which apparently no longer belongs in my chest and is now beating in my throat. 

“Some of them have said that,” Tendou chuckles, but his smile clearly doesn’t correspond with what he feels. He taps his left index finger at his temple, “thinking I’m screwed here.”

“But you’re not,” I state the obvious. The only true problem with Tendou is that his brain sometimes travels a little too fast for him to put the thoughts into words. 

Tendou’s eyelids are heavy. He peeks at me under long, dark red lashes. Those cherry irises look blurred. “You are a cruel man indeed.”

He opens the door wide open, and gestures me out. 

“See you next time, sensei.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this is sugarispoison :) ushiten is one of my favorite ships of haikyuu and i honestly am Dying to see a tutor/pupil dynamic between them. i completely pulled this out of my ass and am only posting to give myself more motivation to continue writing. hopefully *fingers crossed* that i will actually finish this. thank u for reading and hope u will enjoy this!
> 
> kudos and comments r greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison)


	2. lemongrass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kiss me, please, sensei.”
> 
> I really, really wish he can’t hear the desperation straining my voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of anxiety attacks. pls proceed w caution :)  
> (explicit sexual content is present in this chapter)

“Kiss me, please, sensei.”

I really, _really_ wish he can’t hear the desperation straining my voice. If he does, he would notice that I am not making a mere joke. I let the door frame dig away at my back, so the physical uncomfort there can draw away my mental humiliation. 

He looks confused, but not surprised. I bet this is how they all see me: somes screws are loose in this head of mine, containing nothing but new ways to trick them or get them flustered and uncomfortable, so much so that they run out of the door, screaming, wishing they had never ever set foot in the Tendou household. 

“You mustn’t tell me that you did all that back there, thinking it wouldn’t have an influence on me?” I mock him, “you are truly an evil man, Mr. Ushijima.”

I like how the name rolls off my tongue and clicks between my teeth. Island of oxes. I wonder how many oxes it would take to move this mountain of a man. 

“Me?” he finally seems to have found his voice again. His face doesn’t fluster one bit. His dark green eyes, however, flicker with bewilderment. 

“ _You_. Ushijima Wakatoshi.” I bite down hard on each word, relishing how they feel. I reach my hand out, gently pressing at his chest. His tie is silky to the touch. The idea that we are basically flesh to flesh except for maybe two or three layers of clothing stirs my already-warm belly. My pants feel too tight. I scratch at his tie. 

_Ohhowiwishitcouldbetiedaroundmywristswhenhetakesmefrombehind_. 

“I wonder if there’s anything going on in here at all-” 

I-

“When you blow those smoke rings-”

Can’t-

“Or when you nurse that burnt cigarette stub with so much care-”

Stop the words-

“Or when you ask me about the fucking western samurais for the _third_ time in a row-” 

From spilling out--my mind is going a little _too_ fast-

“They have done worse things to me, you know.”

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckididn’tmeantosaythatdoesheknownow-_

“Tendou, I can’t catch up with your thinking.” 

His eyes were locked on me, but still I _can’t_ stop-

“Some of them have said that-” 

Stop it _stop. it_. he’s going to know-

“Thinking I’m screwed here.”

No no no this is bad this is potentially dangerous, life threatening, it’s all going to end-

“But you’re not.” 

_But you’re not._

The humming in my head screeches to a halt. 

I have to say I’m surprised. I scan his face carefully, looking for that sign of a lie that they all show when they say I am totally normal. 

But there isn’t any. Instead, it is sincerity and honesty and something close to an understanding in those metallic eyes that are usually detached. My throat feels like a tea leaf is stuck there.

Someone understanding Tendou Satori? What is this? Will the sun rise up from the west next? 

Now I wish he was just joking when he said that. It’s not fair for him to act so cold and distant for one second then turn into Mister Goody-Two-Shoe the next. God fucking knows what that does to me. What that _has_ done to me. 

“You are a cruel man indeed,” I fling open the door, and hold out a hand to gesture him out. 

His stare still lingers. And I can taste the sick sweetness on my tongue. 

“See you next time, sensei.”

When he finally exits the door, I slam it shut, and lean on it with all my weight. I have never walked him out through the front door anyways, plus, a maid is probably waiting for him outside. He’ll be alright.

I run a hand through my hair. 

Breathe, Tendou, breathe. 

_I probably made a bad move. It’s not a game. But it is. Everything is. No more than a game. But he probably hates me. Does he? Shut up. SHUT UP. What difference does it make? Do I care? Should I care?_

My shoulders heave. I tap my finger of my other hand against the seam of my pants. Nonstop. 

_Cigarette ash. The feeling of his hand brushing against mine. Too close. Way too close. Shame. Oh please what is shame again? Haven’t heard that word since…? Silver hair. School uniform ties. Click click click of polished shoes. No. He wouldn’t get it._

I feel like slipping again. This is bad. 

I grip onto some poor strands of hair when I can’t slow down mentally. Physical pain gets me grounded. I close my eyes. In the pitch of darkness, that focus point of pain is the only light. 

_But you’re not._

My breathing evens.

That calms me down somehow. But my pants are feeling too tight on me again. I chuckle. How embarrassing. 

I push myself off from the door, and pad to the corner of the room. There stands that leather armchair he sat in. 

Most of the cigarette smoke has cleared out of the window, but some still remains. 

I take a deep breath. Smells like him. 

It’s crazy how fast human brains adapt to interpret new signals and categorize them. For a little folder labeled “him” in my brain, some things are already present: silver ring, silk tie, and cigarette smoke with a lemongrass scent as strong as its smell of tar. 

I rest my right palm on the arm of the chair, and flinch. It’s hot to the touch. 

I sit in it, and let my skin gradually get used to the heat. 

Then I freeze. 

Through the shifting linen curtain, I see a familiar figure. He is standing by the curbside, seemingly waiting for a taxi. He is facing away from me, but because I am only on the second floor, I can clearly see every movement he makes. 

The broad shoulders, the dark hair, the left hand holding a cigarette. 

“Another one, sensei?” I mutter to myself, “it’s not good for you.”

I hover my warm palm right above the bulge in my pants, not moving my gaze away from him one bit. 

“Oh sensei...” I watch his shoulder rise as he takes a drag. I shudder.

Those shoulders. Muscular. Bulky. And I bet they’re warm underneath that suit. 

I lean back and rest my head on the top rail of the armchair. 

So hot. Almost stung the back of my neck. Maybe that’s how his skin feels when he gets excited the way I am right now? 

_Boshin War was started because of dissatisfaction against the diplomatic decisions of opening Japan. Now, what are the major sources of dissatisfaction?_

“The nobels… and the young samurais...” My hand finds its way into my pants. My fingers curl around my twitching length. 

He flicks the cigarette, ash sprinkling then disappearing. I squeeze, hard. The pain of being neglected for too long suddenly shifts into benevolent pleasure. 

_The increased western interference with the economy led to a downturn. You got that?_

“Yes… sensei.” 

I slide my hand up the shaft. The dribble at the top instantly makes my fingers slick and wet. He blows a nonchalant smoke ring. I circle a finger, grazing the head. 

_What are the areas that the western samurais are predominantly from during the Boshin War?_

“Oh I know this one sensei… you burned it into my memory,” I moan, voice like an obedient kitten even though no one’s there to listen, “Chōshū, Satsuma and _Tosa_!”

The domains sound much too obscene in the way I make them to be. 

Ah, there he is, bringing that hand with the cigarette between his fingers up to his lips, though I can’t see. His shoulders rise again. The muscles tense then release. I pump down all the way to the hilt, almost cruelly. I can see stars in my eyes. They explode, like fireworks, and shoot down my limbs. The tingles come in waves, carry me farther and farther away. 

I force my eyes to stay open and focused on him. What would he say if he knew the unspeakable things I do? 

* * *

I light another cigarette as I watch the cars go by. Two… maybe three cabs pass by me, but I do not wave them down. My mind is solely devoted to somewhere else right now. 

After I left the room, Tendou slammed the door shut. It almost hit the back of my head, just how fast he wanted me out. I ponder the one and only question I have for my pupil: what exactly do you want from me? 

Logically thinking, Tendou Satori--or rather, Tendou Shingo, his father--hired me to help his failing grades. His failing grades, surprisingly, only in high school Japanese history, one of the easiest subjects students can take in their academic career. In order to fail so spectacularly in a subject that only requires memorization, one would have to be either not trying at all, or trying their best to fail. I am starting to think Tendou belongs in the second category. 

Thus, there must be a reason or motive behind him failing the history subject endlessly. I have heard from Mr. Tendou that it had been a regularity for young Tendou to go through one tutor a week. He implied to be apologetic if that were to happen to me too. But up until today, everything has been going alright. At least in my opinion. Tendou is definitely not the most cooperative pupil I’ve had, but neither has he caused any trouble I couldn’t personally handle. All he had done was asking me absurd questions and staring at me overzealously whenever I pulled out a cigarette to smoke. 

Being reminded of cigarettes, I bring the already burning one up to my lips to take a puff. Recently I’ve been forgetting to smoke the cigarette after I’ve lit one a lot, until ash accumulates and falls, or when Tendou purrs to remind me of it. I frown. This is not a good sign. Hopefully it’s not an indication that I would get Alzheimer’s soon. 

So. Things were going smoothly with Tendou. The hourly salary is great, compared to the other tutor work I do. And the student is not so strange that I have to quit the job on sight. 

Then Tendou asked for a kiss. 

Of course, if I choose to ignore the signs and pretend that I am a perfectly logical person who processes information like machines and does not recognize human emotions, him asking for that kiss would be interpreted as nothing more than just a trick he plays, a prank he pulls, to get a kick from seeing a reaction from an authority figure, like a school teacher. Like a tutor. Like _me_. 

But something doesn’t quite sit right. 

I blow the smoke. 

No, something isn’t quite right indeed. 

If it was just him blurting out “give me a kiss” without any context, I would have ignored it, like I did with so many other pranks of my list of “problem” pupils. Some people call them insolent brats, or worse names. But they are just young and reckless. They usually would try it for a week, some stubborn ones would go for two weeks, at most three. And they would break down. They would get bored, and instead of spending their time and effort thinking of ways to get me to react, they would rather do the work I assign them because that is usually easier. 

Of course, this doesn’t mean that I have never encountered a sticky situation before. I lower my eyelids. Not now, Ushijima. 

I flicked the ash at the end of my cigarette. 

Three damned years, and here I am, still in Miyagi, waiting. 

At the end of the day, it is fundamentally different from back then now. Tendou is the farthest thing from… him. Of course, Tendou is not him. So there isn’t really much I should worry about. But some aspects of Tendou do remind me of how a certain boy acted before. It is different though, since when the prior would slam a door on me, the latter would… 

I bring up the cigarette to my lips, and inhale long and hard. I am punishing myself for remembering this again. This is simply ridiculous. 

I blow a nice and round smoke ring, and watch it dissipate in the air. I entertain the idea that Tendou wants something more than just a simple, straight-forward pupil/tutor relationship. The way he trembles under the innocent brush of my fingers, the strain in his voice when he said about the worse things “they” have done, and the undeniable want in his eyes when he asks me that stupid, stupid question to kiss him… Who are “they”, anyway? 

Too much thinking doesn’t do me any good. It is bringing me closer and closer to that line again. The line I drew between him and my current tutor work. He was a special case, and I told myself that it wouldn’t happen again. And I would be the biggest liar in the world if I pretend I don’t want to help Tendou, the way I helped him. 

I shake my head, and take another drag. The cigarette gets even shorter. 

I snuff it out in the ashtray on top of a nearby trash can. I debate with myself for another minute, before flagging down a cab coming my way. 

“Good evening! Where to?” 

“Kabuto Island, please.”

I kick myself for how naturally the words roll down my tongue. 

The car ride takes about an hour. By the time I pay my fares, the sun is already setting. I stand by the red bridge. The bridge he promised to meet me at. 

The setting sun paints the sky a warm orange hue. Colors ranging from dark purple to light pink splatter across the horizon. Streaks of pale clouds hang where the sky meets the ocean. Waves are splashing on the beach softly, washing up sea glass of all colors and shapes. Teenagers, kids, old couples walk on the sand, barefoot. Their shadows are long and lean. 

_By the time the tides rise up to touch the bottom of the red bridge, I will meet you here._

_What is this poetic way of speech? You’re a poet now?_

_He chuckled. You, sensei, have made me into a hopeless romantic. Oh! What a grim life! If it isn’t for the beauty of nature and innocence of love!_

_I took him in my arms. My lips found his. So naturally._

_I hope you keep your promise._

_When have I not, old man? You told me to pass my literature exams, and I did, didn’t I?_

_Yes. Yes you did._

_Then it’s settled. Next spring. Before the hot days of summer._

That was what _you_ promised. 

My vision blurs, the sky melting into the ocean. The sun is now reduced to an orange glare. 

Tears trace down my face. 

That was what you promised, and three times the tides have risen up this high… You’re still not here, aren’t you. 

“Is it time that I give up now?” I whisper softly. 

No one is there to listen, or answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's ch2 :) we're finally getting to see some parts of tendou and ushi that they do not necessarily want to show to each other! also i decided to incorporate some personal experiences when it comes to tendou's anxiety attack. hopefully that wasn't too draining or triggering. for kabuto island, i did some *scholarly* research on it and its beautiful red bridges and thought it would be a great location for ushi and the mysterious "him". anyways, ty for reading and hope u liked it!
> 
> kudos and comments r greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison)


	3. cotton wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I taste the sickly sweets on my tongue when I look closely at how he writhes and arches under my touch. 
> 
> Ah. I am home indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*very* explicit sexual content is present in this chapter)

I taste the sickly sweets on my tongue when I look closely at how he writhes and arches under my touch. 

Ah. I am home indeed. 

I stroke, with feather-like lightness, on the softest spot of flesh deep inside him. 

I play his body like an instrument, and his moans are the music it produces. 

Oh how I long to tell him those words, whisper them into his sensitive left ear when grinding my teeth on his earlobe. But he would get mad at me and that wouldn’t be fun. 

“Har-harder, Tendou… ah...” 

His hips rise up to meet my fingers. 

I chuckle, and remove them completely instead. 

He groans in frustration. 

“Semi Semi Semi...” I say, licking the dews of salty sweat from his collarbone, “oh how beautiful you look.”

“Idiot,” he pants. 

I look up at him, and feel the corner of my lips lifting. 

It’s strange being with him. The whispers in my head slow down just a little bit. It’s like I'm more caught up with the present instead of the ten billion possibilities of the future. 

His silver hair completely disheveled, the same way his body is. His skin is flushed with a shameless shade of pink. His eyelids heavy and low, those grey eyes peering at me with hunger, lust and longing. His lips are wet. 

So. very.  _ wet _ . 

Wet enough to make me want to lick him clean and eat him up. 

I cover his mouth with mine, drinking and swallowing his moans and whimpers. My hand finds one of his nipples, and applies just the most velvet-like pressure, then twists the pink little bud hard with want. I drag my hand along his body, and pause to brush through his thin pubic hair. The body under mine jerks with anticipation. 

“Is it that good?” I let go of his lips and tease. 

“F-fuck,” he reaches a hand down to grab on my wrist, bringing my hand to his tight hole, “Tendou.”

I let my hand rest there and ignore the protesting twitches of the rims. “Hmm?”

“Tendou, please...”

“Yes, Semi?”

“ _ Tendou _ .” he sounds like he is going to cry. 

“You, gotta, answer, my question, first,” I leave a kiss on his chest between each pause of the sentence, “does it feel that good?”

“Yes yes it does,” he gasps and pleads, “Tendou… please touch me… inside.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

With a swift thrust of my two slicked fingers, I easily find that spot again. The spot that makes his body squirm, his eyes roll back, and his legs tremble. 

“Ye-yes… Right there...T-ten...” his hands snake around my shoulder and neck. He kisses me desperately and everywhere, my name is broken into pieces between his lips and my chin, my lips and my neck. He finds his favorite spot on my right collarbone and  _ sucks _ . Pleasure and the numbing pain are the perfect combination. 

I shift my gaze downward. I stare at how my fingers disappear in and reappear from the ring of tight pink flesh. Every little detail I take in tirelessly, from the sight of his cock lean and erect, to the sweet, sweet smell radiating from him. I wiggle my fingers suddenly between the thrusting motions, and his hips buck forward, the head of his cock dripping clear fluids. 

I press my hips into the mattress and stifle my moan. Just a little bit of pressure is all I need. 

“Touch yourself for me,” I whisper against his ear, lips brushing the earlobe. I feel him shiver from the two fingers buried deep inside him. 

He looks at me, eyes foggy. His lips parted, and then he complies, as he always does with me during sex. His fingers curl around his cock flushed with desire, and start to pump. He rocks gently against my fingers, then thrusts into his own hand. He picks up his pace quickly, and the motions are getting frantic. His chest rises and falls briskly, and his head is thrown back. He is getting close, I can tell. 

But I take that away from him. 

“Ah, a little too fast now,” I use my free hand to squeeze his wrist and hold it still. 

“But, Tendou...” his eyes well up with frustration, and a single tear traces across his burning left cheek. I shamelessly lick it away for him, which makes him whimper even more. 

“Satori...” he calls. 

Already the given names? I smile against his cheeks. 

“Yes?... Eita?” 

He shudders when he hears his first name being called. I wonder how it is that this has such a huge effect on him. 

“Will you please...now?” his brows furrow and his lips pout downward, speaking with a evilly heady tone, “take those annoying pants off and prove to me how much of a whore I am. Fuck. me.  _ now _ . ”

Fuck. 

That was too good. The sensual breathlessness and the dirty,  _ filthy  _ words he uses are  _ too _ good. 

I see the edges of my vision blur a little. But I can manage. 

Thoughts cloud my mind as I fumble to open the fly of my pants-- _ nownownowineeditnowNOW _ \--and his spare hand also joins in to help. I let a moan escape when my shaft is freed, and I feel the chilly air suddenly coming in contact with the most sensitive skin on my body. 

I flip him on his stomach and raise his hips up in a swift motion. I rest my cock at his entrance, smearing my precum all over his porcelain skin. He looks back at me with teasing eyes. I notice his irises shift to a dark ash, borderlining black. 

_ Black. Dark olive. Black. Dark navy silk tie. Black. The burning edges of lemongrass under the orange flames. Black. “But you’re not.” _

I still myself a moment before my mind spins out of control. 

“Satori, please, NOW,” his words drag me back down. 

I’m here. I’m here again. 

And it is all I need to hear. 

With one deep push, I am inside of the boy, whose small of the back looks so gorgeous when he arches in bursts of both agony and pleasure. 

Neither of us lasts very long. He is already overstimulated with two orgasms from earlier, and I’m starting to reach the maximum point of self constraint. I grant him his third orgasm of the afternoon when I plunge as deep as I can and give the devilish strokes on the head of his red and dripping cock. He screams when he comes, squirting in my hand, on his own belly, and on the white sheets. 

For some reason, my mind is at its clearest during sex. And specifically sex with him. I don’t really know how it works, or how to explain it for that matter, but it brings my focus to his body and his body alone. All I need to worry at the moment is how to please him, how to make his body react in ways he didn’t even know was possible before, how to fuck him into oblivion when all he is spluttering out of that pretty mouth of his is my first name. I need not to think of messing things up and therefore my life ending (he has made it pretty damn clear that I  _ can’t  _ mess things up with him during sex) over some trivial things I overlooked. The thoughts that would’ve been screaming and questioning  _ when what where who why _ melt into the soft mellow moans and tiny whispers of his desires and mine. 

So when I pull out of him, mind half racing to the hot corner of my library, half stuck on sex, I am confused. 

_ His _ face appears in the back of my head and hangs in my vision field as if a projection. 

“The three domains...” I mumble, breath still ragged from the sex. 

He stirs by me and turns his head. 

“Satori,” still first name based, an usually good sign but I don’t know about now, “did that tutor cast a magical spell or what?”

I puff some air out as a laugh and shake my head. It’s probably worse than a magical spell. 

I look at the clock. 

Fuck. 2:57 p.m. There’s no way I’ll be on time. 

“I’m leaving,” I stand up hastily, throwing on my underwear and pants after wiping myself as clean as I can get. He tries to protest behind me, but I turn around and shut him up with a deep kiss. He moans against my lips and his eyelids are drooping again. And I can see his hands reaching up in my periphery. Nope. 

“Next time,” I say firmly. 

I open the door with my chest still bare and my t-shirt in hand. 

* * *

Tendou bursts through the door—to his  _ own _ library, in his  _ own _ house—panting with hands on his knees. 

I take out my pocket watch and glances at the time. 3:15. I snap it close with a sharp pop. 

I shift my gaze back to him. His usually erect and gelled up hair is ruffled, and it falls onto the sides of his face casually. Somehow that makes him look… softer. His probing and sharp expressions are now mellow. His dark red eyes are gleaming like rubies under bright jewelry lighting, practically shining from the darker corner of the room. His shirt is slanted to one side, exposing his neck and his pale, smooth left shoulder. 

Left shoulder where a nasty purple hickey marks, proudly. 

I swallow. I taste sickly sweets in my mouth. It was mixed with a bitterness of knowing and understanding. That Tendou is untouchable. 

And Tendou notices it instantly. The gleam in his eyes vanished when his eyelids draped lower. There is an inquiry, a question of some sort. But at the same time it looks as though he is ready to make a joke out of me. 

“3:15,” I blurt, before I allow him to further take up my mind space, “Late by a full 15 minutes.”

“I can explain, sensei-” Tendou starts, a mischievous grin forming at the corner of his lips. 

“No need,” I wave a hand, cutting his sentence short with a tight feeling in my throat, “we are moving on with the aftermaths of the Boshin War today. Take a seat, and your notes?”

Tendou pouts, but obeys nonetheless. He drags his feet reluctantly on the hardwood floor when he walks towards his chair, then lifelessly plopping down on top of it. He purposefully hums a wordless song-- _ that _ wordless song--as he rummages through the pile of paper and notebook on his desk. A proud performance telling me how good of a mood he is in. He tilts his head and upper body sideways to open his drawer, taking out pens and--

My breath almost hitches.  _ Almost _ . 

His shirt collar slides lazily across his neck, exposing the entirety of his left shoulder and even more. His pale skin is dewy, it seems as if he worked up quite some sweat before he came here. That huge hickey taunts me, proclaiming that Tendou already belongs to someone and that I should drop my hopes all at once. 

No, I mentally shake my head, I shouldn’t have any hope in the first place. 

No. Not when he practically drools when he stares at me, not when he snatches the cigarette away from my fingers, and certainly not when he asks to kiss me. There is no way. And even if there is--which there isn’t--I wouldn’t allow myself to think like that. I caress my pocket watch through my vest pocket. 

No. 

I force my eyes out the window, as I always do in front of Tendou whenever he does a random action that reminds me of…  _ him _ . 

Late summer approaches with guile. It gradually paints the tips of the green leaves yellow, orange, then red. It blows the breeze with the slightest dip in temperature. It crafts the clouds with harshness and elongates their shapes. 

Cotton wool, as he would once call them. 

_ Thicker than cotton and much lighter than wool… Cotton wool! Is that a word, sensei?  _

**_Sensei._ **

“Sensei?”

I snap back to reality with surprising grace. 

“Yes, Tendou,” I respond, still not looking at the worried face one feet away, “let’s begin.”

Time passes peacefully with me going through key points of the long lasting impacts of the Boshin War, and Tendou displaying his usual self, again tip-toeing the line between boredness and excitement. I light a cigarette about an hour into the lecture, and ever since then Tendou’s eyes have been trailing every single movement my left hand makes. 

I take a drag, and blow the smoke through my teeth as I ask, “where did the emperor move to at the end of the war?”

Tendou visibly shudders. 

I turn my eyes sideways at an undetectable angle so his figure looks clearer in my peripheral vision. His lips are parted and wet, and two rosy clouds creep up his cheeks from his neck. 

I dart my eyes away and out the window instantly. 

It must be the sun persistently shining on this corner of the room again, because I am feeling awfully warm. 

Ten seconds pass in silence.

“Tendou, what city?” I repeat myself. 

“Uhhm,” Tendou lets out a sigh. It sounds way too lewd to be accidental. 

Another ten seconds pass, with Tendou breathing heavily being the only audible noise in the room. 

“What is the original name of Tokyo?” I turn my head with a little impatience, and immediately regret my poor choice of action. 

Tendou sits with his back against the chair, and he has a fist full of his red hair in his left hand. The other hand is not on the desk holding the pen; instead, it is somewhere behind the desk where I can’t see. His half-lidded eyes shoot open when he catches my gaze with ease. Suddenly I can’t look away. 

It’s either magnet or witchcraft. I am convinced. 

“The original name of Tokyo?” Tendou’s eyes glisten. I would be a fool if I say I still cannot see the want and desire laid bare in those ruby pools. He lets go of his hair and his right hand finds its way back on the table top. 

“Mhm,” I hummed. If I opted for words, they would probably give everything away for me. 

“That I think I know,” Tendou leans forward on his desk and slowly stands, pushing his chair out with his thighs, “do I deserve a reward if I get it correct?” 

“Reward?” I repeat his word back to him, “what kind of reward?”

I am definitely playing right into his game. But no matter, I reassure myself. I’ve done this multiple times with other pupils when they try to make fun of me or see me make a grave mistake. I never do or cave in. I sit up a little more up straight in my chair. 

“If I answer this correctly,” Tendou walks towards my corner of the room where sunshine fills, and finds his place leaning back against the wall beside the window, “let me look at your pocket watch.”

My… pocketwatch? 

“My... pocketwatch?” I raise an eyebrow. This is definitely not something that I was expecting. No, it is the farthest thing I would imagine if I think of “a reward for Tendou Satori”. “And why is that?”

“You act strange when you look at it,” Tendou folds his arms, his eyes glued to mine, “your eyes do a twitchy thing. But you look at the time as fast as you can in order to avoid it. You always snap it close so fast. I want to see what it is so special about it.”

I try to keep my face still and only allow my eyes to drop for a second. My toes suddenly feel cold and numb, as if they’re no longer part of my body. The fear of exposing the part of me that I buried so deep inside grips me by throat. 

It’s just the pocket watch, I tell myself. It truly  _ is  _ just a pocketwatch. 

“Sure,” I look up, determined, “so tell me Tendou, what is the city that the emperor moved to?”

One of his brows jumps up with surprise and unexpectedness. 

“Oh, sensei, what a dangerous game we’re playing!” His lips curl up, and finally break our eye contact when he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, “you almost remind me of him!”

Him? 

_ Him???  _

“Edo, sensei, the city was Edo.”

Cigarette ash fell on my leg. Damn it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooo welcome to ch3 :) it is getting intense here as we can see sad!ushi and horny!tendou interacting. as always hope u enjoyed reading! 
> 
> kudos and comments r greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison)


	4. ice set aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I answer this correctly, let me look at your pocketwatch.” 
> 
> What an outlandish request! I rejoice in my wickedness. Revel, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sexual content is *implied* in this chapter)

“If I answer this correctly, let me look at your pocketwatch.” 

What an outlandish request! I rejoice in my wickedness. Revel, even. 

His pocketwatch, is something close to a forbidden object. The apple of Adam and Eve. Or something along the lines. 

From the twenty something hours I had to observe him, I gradually picked up on that flash of melancholy in his eyes whenever he pulled out his pocketwatch about a week in. A dead relative, a long-gone friend, or even better… a past lover. 

That particular thought excites me. Him? With a lover? Have they done unspeakable things? Has he fallen in love? Does he even  _ know _ what love is? Has he been stuck on that ghostly figure? Does he think about that figure when he touches hims-

“My… pocketwatch?” his voice snaps me back, “And why is that?”

“You act strange when you look at it. Your eyes do a twitchy thing. But you look at the time as fast as you can in order to avoid it. You always snap it close so fast. I want to see what it is so special about it.” 

Truly, there’s nothing to hide here. 

He looks conflicted. 

Ah, so he does have emotions. 

“Sure,” he looks up, green eyes hard and dark with determination, “so tell me Tendou, what is the city that the emperor moved to?”

“Oh, sensei,” I smile, the corners of my lips twitching with expectation, “what a dangerous game we’re playing! You almost remind me of him!”

It’s perhaps a slip. Or not. Depends on how you see the issue. 

“Edo, sensei, the city was Edo.”

The cigarette ash falls on his leg. 

I walk to him, and plop down right in front of his feet. The thick Persian rug is itchy under my ass. I peer at him through my eyelashes. I hold that eye contact as I use my left thumb to wipe away the grey sprinkles of ash, still warm on his press ironed pant leg. 

He frowns. 

I lick the ash off the side of my thumb. 

Uergh, bitter. 

He swallows. But his eyes. Fuck… his eyes. I can probably drown in them if I really have to resolve to. They’re a deep shade of emerald, still cold and unforgiving as much as his other facial features are promptly crumbling apart--under  _ my  _ influence, I tell myself. 

Not that ghostly figure.  _ Me _ . 

“Sensei...” I purr instinctively--who wouldn’t under that icy stare? “pocketwatch, please.”

He digs it out of his waistcoat pocket, detaches the chains from the buttons, and gently puts it in my open and ready palms.

First impression: warm. Body heat from him. _ I want to feel more I want to be snuggled by his waist I want to be so close to him that he warms me with his own body heat I want-- _

I let out a shuddering breath. My cheeks are heating up. Don’t know if he can see it or not. 

Second impression: cheap. I can probably stroll down the street and buy one that’s easily more expensive in a random department store. It’s most probably brass underneath, with a thin coating of silver. Said coating is wearing off on the edges, exposing the bronze color underneath. 

I open it for inspection. I guess I’m not a professional pocket watch connoisseur, since it looks just like every other pocket watch I’ve seen before. 

But then  _ it  _ catches my eyes. 

It, being “Ushiwaka,” in tiny lettering, etched to the side of the lid facing inward. Definitely not professionally done. These are layers upon layers of scratches that make up the characters, and they look like they’re from a sharp drywall nail, or the tip of a small Swiss Army knife. 

I run the pad of my index finger upon it. Feels funny. Scratchy. Ticklish. 

“Ushiwaka huh?” I hum, tilting the pocketwatch to the side so I can see tiny shadows forming under the ridges and fissures on the silver created by human hands. Definitely not machines. No machine came up with this nickname alright. 

He nods, and then holds out a hand, waiting for me to return it. 

Oh, dear sensei, but I’m not one to be this obedient. 

I stand up instead, and sit by the window sill. I dangle a leg out the window. The sun is very hot. 

“Hmm, wonder who the thoughtful gifter is?” I sling the pocketwatch chain over my finger precariously, and he stands up immediately and closes the distance between us too in the bat of an eyelash. 

Oh. If I’ve known earlier this is the way to get him to move this fast… 

“Tendou,” he says, a little impatiently, “please give it back.”

I can’t help but laugh, and let the pocketwatch swing from side to side. 

“Oh sensei, this is rich!” I exclaim, half closing my eyes, the metal chains shifting slightly in its place, “you’re like one of those kids in elementary school, whining and crying to call the homeroom teacher just because I broke your special pencil with a scented eraser at the end!”

There is a silence for a moment. I wait. 

Did I overdo it? No. Tendou Satori never overdoes anything. 

I tilt my head over to look at him and--

He is angry. 

Oh he is so  _ very  _ angry. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, tone almost indifferent, “give. It. Back.”

If he was cold before, he now is antarctic ice, set aflame. I can feel that ice cold burn on my skin just from his eyes alone. Those eyes, darkened to the very rim, hidden behind thick black lashes, threaten to tear me apart. 

I wonder then, at that strange moment straddling my window sill, if I sling myself out and down to the pavement and shatter a couple of bones of mine along with his oh-so-precious pocketwatch from someone who calls him so endearingly as ushiwaka… will he care for my injuries, or smash my skull on the curbside? 

The range of possibilities is enticing, but I don’t plan on walking with a limp and crutches for the next few months. Yet. Maybe I’ll do it one day. 

I swing my leg back, and hops off the windowsill. 

“Please sensei,” I tease, dropping the pocketwatch casually to his outstretched hand, “I’m just joking.”

I wasn’t though. The kid who called me a monster back in elementary school got what he deserved, his favorite pencil snapped in half and with snots and tears on his sleeve. And that pained, raged look is exactly what he displayed just now. The perfect revenge. 

He blows--somewhat symbolically if you ask me--at his pocketwatch and uses his sleeves to wipe at it. 

I roll my eyes and lean back at the wall. 

“So, what’s her name?”

He shoots me a look. A classic, indifferent look, weary of my tricks. 

Oh no already? Not yet sensei! 

“Or should I say… his?” 

The pressure of the words is felt heavily in this room. It ripples and tears between the two of us. His brows furrow and he raises his chin. 

Defense mechanism. 

“So it is a ‘he’ huh.” A lopsided grin is forming on my face. “Who was it?”

“Tendou, I would rather you not guess around my perso--”

“A high school fling?” I let my mouth speak all the speedy thoughts I can’t process, “a friend of a friend? Not a one night stand I’m assuming, unless it’s someone that rich? Wait a second, I got it! But it couldn’t be… or could it? Another, ‘seito,’ like me?” 

My breath hitches somewhere between my throat and my lungs when he pins both of my hands on the wall, to the side of my head. 

My grin widens like I’m insane. 

I got it correct. 

* * *

Tendou, as I learned, is a force to be reckoned with. 

He isn’t like my past students (or at least 99% of them), in a couple of ways. 

Firstly, his intentions are largely different from those of my past students. Whereas my past students only wanted to see me react from frustration or rage, Tendou also reacts to me, and displays his reaction with such pride that it burns a little to directly look at his face or eyes. 

Secondly, he is actively enjoying every single second of our interaction together when others would wish it to end as soon as possible. There is a magnetic force, I’ve concluded, that draws him to me. Or me to him. Or us to each other for that matter. 

Thirdly, he doesn’t, ever, quite give up. The look of deviance and challenge is forever present in those ruby eyes, and I am doing everything in my power to keep my nerves calm and tranquil as I stare into them. 

But it’s truly of no use when he flings the pocketwatch-- _ his _ pocketwatch, I must add--from side to side when sitting on a windowsill. 

It is as if it’s a joke, made by some unknown bigger power, saying to me, wouldn’t you like to meet a challenge? A challenge who defies all your logical thinking, all your presumptions, and all your perception? 

The punchline is, I am attracted to challenges like this. 

_ He _ was a prime example. A lesson learned the hard way or… a lesson that I refuse to learn the true nature of. 

I demand the pocketwatch back. Edges of my vision blurs, and my chest hurts from my heart beating way too fast. 

Am I afraid? Of the pocketwatch falling? Yes but not quite. It would be a form of freedom on my end. Emphasis on  _ a  _ form. Not the  _ ideal  _ form. 

Am I afraid of Tendou falling? Maybe. There’s a hint of that somewhere in me. Up until today, I still don’t know how far he can go and wants to go. Licking the cigarette ash that fell on my leg clearly wasn’t something he planned on doing but only did on the spot. So could be jumping off the windowsill two stories high. 

Am I then… angry? Yes. 

I am enraged. 

I am enraged, because I lose the control I so desperately exert onto those around me with a rigid appearance and manner. I am enraged, because at this moment that my past and present come into conflict with each other, I can do nothing but watch. I am enraged, because either falls, and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. 

But thankfully neither does. Tendou returns the pocketwatch, and dusts it off as a joke. I examine it, use my sleeve to wipe away Tendou’s bold and unforgiving fingerprints, and slide it back into my waistcoat pocket. 

“So, what’s her name?” Tendou asks casually as he leans back against the wall. He is relentless. 

I shoot him a look. 

“Or should I say… his?” A strange spark shone from his crimson eyes. 

My heart skips a beat. It’s that fear again. The fear of exposing my secret of the past to someone else. Even if that someone else is Tendou. But there’s something more to that. Something not quite like fear. It comes from deeper within me, and everywhere it touches, fires roar. 

I frown instead, hiding away my discomfort--or at least, trying to do so. 

“So it is a ‘he’ huh,” he continues to push, “who was it?”

I compose my own posture and adjust my breathing to calm that sensation of burning. 

“Tendou, I would rather you not guess around my perso--”

“A high school fling?” it feels as if Tendou is pressing his face right up in mine, “a friend of a friend? Not a one night stand I’m assuming, unless it’s someone that rich? Wait a second, I got it! But it couldn’t be… or could it?” 

Every single segment of question he asks pushes me toward a direction that I do not particularly want to visit on this early autumn evening. I open my mouth to say “stop,” but he gets there first. 

“Another, ‘seito,’ like me?” 

He gets it correct. An unknown force takes ahold of me. The next action I make, I make unconsciously. 

I grab his wrists and slam them right beside his head on the wall behind him.  _ Tendou’s body’s light no matter how tall and threatening he looks as a high school boy _ , that’s the only thought going through my brain. 

His eyes widen with surprise, then excitement, pupils blown wide and dark. His lips curl into a crazed grin and he licks his lips tentatively. I hear heavy breathing, borderlining panting. But Tendou looks absolutely unfazed. That’s when I realize the labored breathing comes from me. 

“Sensei...” he murmurs, voice deep and velvety, “did I get it correct?”

I don’t respond. I should just let him go and leave. It’s probably class time anyways. Just step away, let his wrists drop, and tell him to do his homework before the next time you come here. It should be easy. 

But I don’t move a muscle on me. The vicinity between me and Tendou suddenly overwhelms all my other senses. All I can focus on is how Tendou’s sultry eyes dripping blood red look, how the delicate skin on his wrists feel under my big palms, and how the sound of our breathing mixed together sounds like. 

Tendou presses further. “You know, a good student needs rewards.”

He makes it sound like some hushed fantasies. I stare into his half lidded eyes. 

“If I get it correct, don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

A moment of silence passes before I realize that heady and dangerous voice comes from me. And it clearly catches Tendou by surprise as well. He stares at me like I just slapped him in the face. His thin brows shoot up high, almost into his hairline. His eyes widen so much that I fear they will pop out like they do in cartoons. 

It takes virtually no time for him to recover. 

“If it wouldn’t be  _ too  _ much of a request,” he answers slyly with a sweet voice, eyelashes batting--he knows it too!--and casting shadows on his flushed cheeks, “the kiss I asked for two weeks ago.”

Tendou finishes, and peers at me as he nibbles carefully on his lower lip. 

Outrageous! Unforgivable! Absolutely mad! 

But my own body says otherwise. I can feel my cheeks warming up, and my palms now burn with the sensation of Tendou’s cool skin. It’s like ice, set aflame. The same sensation going on somewhere deep inside of me. Then, I finally grasp what it is. 

Arousal. Painful, stiff, and unrelieved arousal. 

“Well, sensei?” Tendou lets out a sigh. 

At that exact moment, my body leans into his on its own. Tendou’s eyes flit between my one eye, then the other, searching. I don’t need to lower my head to align my lips with Tendou’s, now wet from his theatrical lickings. 

I could do this. Just lean in, give in and drink in. It is what I’ve been wanting from Tendou, isn’t it? And he makes it quite clear that it’s what he wants from me too? The moment of clarity is right there in front of me. 

Thoughts turn into fragments when Tendou closes the gap between us. 

His lips crash on top of mine with no mercy. My eyes close automatically and roll into the back of my skull. 

First impression, cool, and wet. Very soft. 

Second impression, it reminds me of him. 

I snap my eyes open and pry Tendou off me. He pants, his eyes glimmering with hurt and a strange look. 

“Wha-”

“I need to leave.”

With a boner between my legs and my briefcase barely closed, I flee from the Tendou household like I'm running from Hell itself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _seito_ means pupil/student.
> 
> sorry for the wait of an entire month.. i was busy writing a bokuaka fic that i just couldn't get out of my mind but.. im back! hope u liked this ch and kudos and comments r greatly appreciated! 
> 
> find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison)


	5. shattering thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Inhale, exhale_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*very* explicit sexual content is present in this chapter)

_Inhale, exhale._

I have to be honest, I barely listened to half a word he said during the past two hours. 

It’s difficult, juggling Japanese history and a hard-on pressing stiffly on my thigh. 

_Inhale, exhale._

I peek at him. 

He is especially distracted today, not even bothering to look at me once. His eyes have been focused on a distant point out the window again. (I need to take a look of what’s so fucking entertaining over there, I make a mental note.) And he is holding onto the same cigarette stub that has long been burnt out ten minutes ago. 

_Sigh._

Feels like we’re back to square one. 

He didn’t mention the kiss last week whatsoever. It is driving me insane, frankly, because I’m starting to think that the kiss was just another imagination, another daydream of mine. The image imprinted in the back of my head of him running out the door like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs doesn’t help either. 

_Inhale, exhale. Keep my thoughts at bay._

I look at the clock sitting on my desk. 

4:58. Two more minutes, and class is over. By then, I will make sure to guard the door--lock it, if I have to--and I will show him the 90% I got on my last Japanese History quiz--oh I did so good--and take his hand--which will be warm from the afternoon sun--and put it on my crotch, make him feel how long I’ve been waiting for a look, a touch, a huff of cigarette tainted air-

“Tendou.”

_Breath hitches._

“Yes?” I snap my head up, anticipating nervously (or excitedly) for a question over some historical facts about the Meiji Restoration that I didn’t even bother to lend an ear to in the first place. Maybe I can get him to be mad again? Last time he was mad the results were surprisingly satisfyi-

“Let’s end early.”

Excuse me? 

“Excuse me?”

He now has his back to me, so I can’t see past his shoulders. His shoulders that are broad and muscular and undulating under the white dress shirt with every movement he makes. 

_Stifle a strained moan._

He is shuffling paper and notes into his briefcase. “We went over quite a lot of content today, so I think-”

I don’t let him finish his sentence. I stand up, pushing the chair out with the back of my thighs. It makes an ugly and prominent screech on the dark hardwood floor. I rushed towards him, and took him into an embrace from the back. 

Oh god. Or deities. Or spirits and heavens. Or demons for that matter. 

_Shakily inhale, shakily exhale._

I circle my arms around his shoulders, and I bite the inside of my cheeks when I realize I can barely touch my hands together. I press the front of my body into the back of his, all of our nooks and crannies fitting together perfectly, like a puzzle piece. 

And that includes my cock pressing in his thighs. 

_Breathing completely stops. Thoughts shatter._

I realize he still hasn’t pushed me away. Then I freeze. Because I haven't thought this far. 

To be exact, I wasn’t thinking in the first place. I just knew I had to get to him, and get to him fast. 

One rare instance of my body acting faster than my brain. 

He only turns his head in shock. I can see the tiny hairs on the edge of his face lit up with sunlight, a golden halo. 

A fucking saint, that’s probably what he is. A savior. A greek god. Because at this point I’m about to throw myself onto the ground, worshipping him. 

“Sensei,” I let out a ragged sigh, right next to his ear. I didn’t mean to let it sound so incredibly desperate, but it comes out that way nonetheless. 

“Tendou.”

I feel his deep voice before I hear it. The grumbles of his voice make their way across his back, onto my own chest, stirring somewhere soft in me. 

“Were you gonna pretend nothing happened?” I whisper. 

_Yes. Yes Tendou I am pretending nothing happened because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Because it happened in the heat of the moment. Because I have responsibilities. Because_ you _won’t understand._

My eyes sting. 

Please. Please be kind. Please don’t be him. 

Please don’t say those words. 

He sighs instead. 

It was a heavy, and burdensome sigh. 

“To be honest Tendou,” he answers, a frown in his voice, “I don’t know _what_ I’m going to do.”

Better than an outward “yes”.

I let out a breath I was holding desperately for dear life. 

“Well, sensei,” I talk into the skin on his neck, “I think I know what you _should_ do.”

I gently turn his body around, and press it down back into the leather chair. 

He lets himself fall.

We make eye contact for the first time today. His eyes a shade darker than usual, just the way they looked last week when he pushed me into the wall. The emerald is still visible on the very edge of his irises, a deep pool of treasures hidden in there, selflessly reflecting all the sunlight that’s casted on it. 

“And what’s that?” he asks hesitantly. 

I kneel on the floor in front of him, and cover my hand over the outline of a strained, stiff cock in his black pants. 

“That we should take care of this.”

His breath shudders. So beautifully and brokenly. 

“Tendou it’s-”

“I got a 90% on my quiz, sensei,” I casually drop the bomb, and watch his face brighten with surprise along the aftershock of the words, “do I deserve a little reward?”

“Well yes but I’m sure-”

He swallows the rest of whatever words he was going to conjure up to persuade me to stop when I lean in and trace my tongue across his hard length over the fabric of his pants. I let my hot and heavy breath out through my nose, lingering right on top of his groin. I can feel the tiny muscles in his thighs jerk with anticipation. 

He moans, which goes straight to my cock and--

Pause. 

_He_ … moaned? 

I look up at him, and feel my face strain from keeping a laugh erupting. He looks at me, a look of horror. 

“I-” 

“If you’re gonna say something about this being inappropriate or strange, refer back to your own actions last week,” I murmur as my fingers climb up to his fly. 

“But-” He tries once more. 

“I turned 18 in May, don’t worry,” I glare at him, a loud zip of his fly opening emphasizing my words. He snaps his mouth shut. 

Stiff fabric. Black. Probably like his eyes. I can feel his eyes on me. Should I look up? No. No. Keep going. Belt loops. Sharp edges of the brass zipper. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. A sting on my index finger. Warm. Sun or him? Sun and him. Now. Mouth watering. Lick lips. Need water. Now. Now. N-

The white noise of my head ceases when I finally pry his pants open.

Plain white boxers. Bad decision. Can see _everything_ . Thoughts? Too many. Visible. Long. Wet tip. Hard. Veins. Lick lips. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

I hold my breath as I hook my fingers into the waistband and slowly pull it down. 

His gorgeous erection--an angry shade of red and the tip smeared in his own precum--springs free. 

Oh fuck. 

“Sensei,” I look up at him through barely opened eyes, “I’m gonna take care of this now.”

And with that, I dip my head, and take his entire length down my throat. 

Oh. Fuck.

* * *

It’s autumn. 

_Ngghn sensei…_

I absent-mindedly note. 

_Hmmm fuck..._

It’s autumn and the leaves are dwindling down outside Tendou’s library window. 

_Nmmm…_

It’s autumn and I’ve known Tendou for a full six weeks now. 

_Haa…_

It’s autumn and the first time with him was also in autumn. 

_Hmmm… yeah…_

It was autumn. 

He hummed around the tip of my cock and he wouldn’t let the rest in and he licked at his lips and he cupped my balls and his hands roam the root of my thighs and he let me come on his cheeks his lips his lashes his hair-

Shit. 

Tendou grabs the base of my cock and whines, “Sensei!”

I dart my eyes back to him, not _him_. 

Tendou is kneeling between my legs, one hand on my cock and the other shoved in his own pants, lips plump and red, chin covered in saliva and possibly my own bodily fluids too. Two crimson clouds decorate his cheeks beautifully, and his eyes are glassy with nothing but molten desire. The red rubies are so saturated and sharp that I think they’re sure to pierce my soul. 

“Yes, Tendou?” my voice is heady and rough. 

“What’s so great about outside the window?” He pouts. 

“It’s autumn, the leaves are falling,” I answer, half lying and half speaking the truth.

He glares at me, and takes my entire length to the hilt while holding eye contact. He swallows hard around the tip of my cock, and I can almost see the shape of my length bobbing in his throat. The sensation of the tip of my cock hitting the soft flesh in Tendou’s mouth, warm and tight and twitching, almost sends me over the edge. 

Tendou is not him. Tendou is _nothing_ like him. 

“Shit,” I swear under my breath. I extend a hand and take a fist full of Tendou’s hair to slow him down. 

He looks up at me, and lets my cock out of his lips with an audible “pop”. 

Oh good job Ushijima you hurt his head. I immediately loosen my grip, and am about to apologize. 

“Do that again, sensei,” he pants, voice higher than usual. He chases my hand with a tilt of his head, nuzzling back into my palms. 

“Are you-”

“Yes I’m fucking sure of it,” Tendou snaps. 

That tickles something funny in me. The need to overpower and control washes across the shores of logic and sympathy. 

“You asked for it,” I hiss. Then I grip and shove. 

No amount of experience has seemed to have prepared Tendou for a sudden mouthful of cock down his throat. He chokes, letting out stuttering coughs from blocked airways and broken moans. The wells of his eyes are filled to the rim, and with a thrust of my hips, tears break loose. He does his best to chase my rhythm, cheeks hollowing in the right moments and tongue staying as flat as possible. His eyes fluttered half closed. This is a side of Tendou I don’t get to see often. A submissive, complacent Tendou, begging to be roughened up. 

And oh, this is _definitely_ not him. 

My lower abdomen feels warm and tight, as I struggle to hold onto the last sense of self control. 

Tendou looks up at me through his clumped and wet lashes, eyes dazed but fully satiated. He blinks twice, moans with his lips around my cock once, and that does it. 

“Tendou… Tendou… Tendou...” I sound like a broken record, tongue clinging onto the syllables of his name as they leave my lips. The euphoria crushes down on my body from my scalp, extending to the ends of my limbs. My hips jerk violently in stuttering bursts, as I spill everything deep in Tendou’s throat, with hands locked in his hair. 

He takes it all, mouth soft and malleable around me, body melted by my feet. 

Tendou is right here, under my control. And that sends a dizzying haze straight to my head. 

When I finally ride out of the orgasm, I pull out of him. Tendou leaves his mouth half open, panting and wheezing. The thick white liquid covered the inner walls of his mouth, shining underneath the afternoon sun. 

I pull him up gently to my lap, and let him straddle my legs like a proud equestrian. I whisper in his ear, “be a good seito and swallow what’s given to you by your sensei, won’t you?”

He shudders, and nods slowly. I watch, entranced, as his Adam's apple bob along his exposed neck with a sheen of sweat. Something stirs inside my rib cages. 

“You did well,” I caress his cheek, and he leans into it. 

A look of mischief flashes in his eyes, “The quiz or the head?”

I deadpan. After a moment, I whisper, “Both.”

Tendou giggles, and he holds onto my neck as he falls into my arms. 

Then I feel it. His own erection, pressed stiffly into my stomach. 

The muscles in Tendou’s jaw are pulled taut as he barely stops his hips from bucking forward. I look down, and see Tendou’s cock straining in his grey sweatpants, the front a darker shade of grey. The fabric is already wet and messy with precum, the very tip glimmering. 

“You were touching yourself when you had your mouth around my cock?” I chuckle lightly. 

“Sensei...” Tendou murmurs, shamelessly prying my hand off his waist and putting it on his twitching cock, “what am I to do with you looking like _that_ all the time? It’s all sensei’s fault, really.”

“Really?” I whisper in his neck, slowly enclosing my fingers around his length. The boy perched on my lap draws in a quick breath, his thighs clenching around mine. 

“...really.” Tendou gives a tight little laugh, his jokester-esque persona falling apart once again. 

“I should take care of you if it was my responsibility, shouldn’t I?” I ask, sliding my hand slowly along his cock through the fabric of the sweatpants. 

“Y-ahh-yes, sensei,” Tendou replies, his eyes are hyper fixated on me, yet they look as if they were drifting away. 

“Then you promise to fulfill your responsibility and work hard on your next History exam?” I ask, all the while sneaking my other hand in Tendou’s shirt and rubbing tiny circles around his hardening nipples, “rewards don’t just fall from the sky, you should know.”

Tendou nods violently, his hips thrusting forward into my hand, and he cries out. He slaps a hand across his mouth, and for the first time in the two months I’ve known Tendou, a look of pure desire and plea takes over those red eyes. 

“Good,” I conclude. 

I shove my hand into his sweatpants with barely any ceremonial warning, and wrapped my fingers around the slicked head. I start working along the shaft immediately, loosening my fingers at the base and tightening when they come to the top, milking droplets of precum right out of him. Tendou whines against his own hand, and his hips soon match with every movement I make. His other hand finds the back of my head and threads itself into my hair, gripping with just enough force to give himself purchase but not too much to hurt my scalp. 

“Oh sensei… Please… I-” he hiccups, “I want...ahhh… I wanna come so-so bad!”

“Ok then, tell me,” I pant as I squeeze his nipple, “tell me one example of centralization during the Meiji Restoration.”

“Sensei you! Hngggnn I- How should… hmm… I know?” Tendou speaks over broken intervals. 

“Oh but you surely do,” I rub hard at the tip of his cock, the body on top of me shakes violently, “I was giving many examples in lecture today.”

“B-but I was… ahhh… Sensei I was distracted!” He whines, both arms around my neck now, holding onto me as if I’m the last lifeboat of Titanic, “by _you_!”

“Very well, a hint then,” I sigh dramatically, and speaks into his right ear, voice intentionally low and heavy, “something related to education.”

Tendou’s thrusts become rushed and jerky, and he screws his eyes shut, as if trying to think amidst the buildup to his climax. 

“Come on now Tendou,” I squeeze around the base of his cock, preventing him from coming without my permission, “what is it?”

“Ah! Hyojungo!” Tendou all but yelps in elation.

"Good," I grunt.

Tendou's yelp soon dies down when I give his cock the last few rough tugs, and is overpowered by Tendou’s voice, high and shaky. The orgasm soon follows, a beat later, with his body convulsing with each spurt of his cum into his sweatpants still around his hips. 

Tendou collapses on me, both of us sticky and dirty. Yet the post orgasm bliss hovers around as if a golden cloud. 

I look outside the window on second nature. The wind has stopped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _seito_ : student  
>  _Hyojungo_ : Japanese standard language that's been put into use since the Meiji Restoration
> 
> here is ch5 and the long promised smut :,)))) hope u had fun reading as much as i had fun writing this chapter! 
> 
> any kudos/comments sends me straight to heaven
> 
> find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison)


	6. fast food salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain is washing over the city, like the long-due blessing it is after a never ending drought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (explicit sexual content is present in this chapter)

The rain is washing over the city, like the long-due blessing it is after a never ending drought. The last trace of summer evaporates from the pavement and browning leaves of the trees. I tread with a lightness in my steps that hasn’t been there in awhile--I find myself in a surprisingly good mood. The rainwater on the pavement splash against the back of my legs playfully, and I would’ve minded it if there isn’t something better that’s been sitting on my mind. 

I got an A on my last Japanese History unit exam. 

To be fair, it wasn’t a particularly difficult goal to achieve. I was always alright with history, before  _ he  _ tainted that memory. But for  _ him _ , I’m willing to try. 

“Today, today, today is the day--”

I hum a tune that is horrendously off-key, and I giggle to myself as I walk up to my front door. I shake the umbrella wildly, flinging water droplets all around me, and when I’m finally satisfied with its dryness, I unlock the door and slip inside. 

“I’m home--”

I take off my soaked shoes at the genkan and a maid walks over to take my umbrella, and hand over a warm towel. 

I wrap it around myself, inhaling the fresh laundry scent, wondering how much of a kick it would be if the smell is entirely made up of his smell. What would it smell like? Burnt lemongrass, blackened tar and a heavy, heavy musk. I let my eyes roll back. 

“Ushijima-sama is waiting in the study,” the maid reminds me. 

I nod, and walk down the dark hallway. 

“Turn a few lamps on, would you? It’s depressing,” I comment. 

“Yes, bocchan.”

I stomp on the stairs, letting the sound ricocheting the wooden walls match the thumping heartbeat in my chest. The physically closer I am to him, the more my skin vibrates and my scalp tingles. 

It has been an entire week since the first time I touched him (and consequently the first time he touched me), and thereafter he has been strangely adamant on no further rewards until I get the A on my exam. Even me showing off my legs in a school skirt does not move him, as much as a strain that has put on his poor dress pants. He only looked at me dead in the eyes, and asked those stupid textbook questions--I almost came on the spot from the icy stares. The thought that he would finally give me what I’ve been craving from him for  _ months _ on end is close to lighting me up and sending me into instant combustion. 

“Today, today, today is the day--”

I burst through the door. 

He is sitting by the window sill, and he turns around at the sound of the door slamming into the wall. The room is dark from the rain, but a lamp illuminates the front of his face, the warm orange engulfing the cool-colored man, smoothing the edges and turns. When he sees it’s me, he smiled--this audacious, unbelievable, heaven-sent of a man--smiled. It was a subtle lift of the corners of his lips, and by no standard can it even be considered as a tiny grin. 

Yet my heart does somersaults, and my stomach drops in me. 

He is simply handsome. 

All words fail, all flourished language, stupid metaphors and never-ending poetic proses fail. They all fail to capture the feeling I feel at that exact moment, standing at my own door, wet like a dog, staring at him. 

“I got the A sensei wanted,” I say mechanically, lifting up the soaked piece of paper in my hand. 

“I’m glad, Tendou,” he says, his voice decorated by the drops of rain on the window pane, “I’m glad.”

The lecture today is somehow easy to sit through. I try my best not to look at the ticking clock on my desk and focus on his words and his voice, and it works. The tension between us, however, only wounds itself tighter and tighter. I can tell by his glances out the window and seemingly indifferent swipes of hand on his lips that he is waiting for the clock to strike 5 o’clock, just as much as I do. 

And when it does, both of us sit still in our chairs, staring at each other. His eyes rake me up and down, and everywhere they float on top of, it is as though I can physically feel his hands caressing my body. I shudder while exhaling. 

“Would you please come here, Tendou?” his voice rough around the edges. 

“Yes, sensei.”

I push the chair back and stand. My heart drums in me, my core shaking with its violent movement. I plant one foot in front of the other, until I stand in front of him, face to face. 

His face isn’t flushed, nor is he panting. He only looks at me, and if it’s not for the conspicuous bulge in his pressed dress pants, I would’ve thought that he is not affected by this whatsoever. 

The rain pelts on, when he orders me to work myself open in front of him. A thunder claps when he tells me to stop. The rain begins pouring heavier than before when I take him in my mouth. A lightning strikes, when I finally mount him, his cock breaches me and then—just like that, we are fully connected. 

“Tendou,” his voice deep in his chest. His large hands splay on my back, pushing at my shoulder blades to get me to be even closer to him. I fall into his arms, willingly. 

Is it salvation? I wonder as my eyes flutter close. 

Once again, all words fail. I chase that feeling and that feeling alone, in the shadows of rain and orange lights, atop a body I’ve worshipped from day one. He grips me, moves me and carries me to the very apex of climax; then he abuses me, roughens me and abandons me to tip over on my own. 

Pleasepleaseplease. 

My mind clouds and everything leaves my body from the tips of my fingers and toes. The secured presence makes its grandeur entrance in the form of my tears, tremors and dedication. He presses a finger--no, two fingers, into my mouth and I let my jaw fall slack and take them in. They play with my tongue and thrust backward into my throat. I gag around them, choke around them and breathe my living breaths around them. 

He lifts me up midair suddenly, and the next thing I know I am being fucked into the wall. The rain sounds right by my ear, and it feels like a storm raging on inside me as well as outside. I cling onto his shoulders and moan into his neck, the taste of herbal cigarettes all around me. 

I cry. Of joy, of pain, of pleasure and of sorrow. 

Tendou, Tendou, he coos. Shh, I got you. 

I cry harder. 

Pleasepleaseplease. I need it--

Another lightening, the room lights up beneath its glory and grace. 

I need sensei--

The thunder follows immediately, hand-in-hand with its twin. 

I need  _ you _ .

Flashes of colors brighter than neon explode behind my eyelids and I’m climbing and climbing and climbing and suddenly I’m falling. His body’s movement stutters, then stills. I can feel his cock pulsating inside me, despite the layer of condom separating us. I come as well, painting white on me, him, on us. 

Surely it is salvation; if not a full course meal, fast food salvation at the very least. 

* * *

I hold Tendou as he rides through his orgasm. When the overstimulation becomes too much for both of us, I pull out of him, and simply hold him sideways in my arms, one arm around his shoulders and the other behind his knees. I sit back into my leather chair, with him still in my lap. 

His ruby eyes are hazy, and his cheeks and lips both match the shade of crimson. He reaches out a hand, and to my surprise, presses it on the side of my cheek. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Do you believe in salvation, sensei?” he hums. 

Somehow I’m not taken aback by the serious question out of the blue right after sex. 

“I’m not religious, so-”

“Not that kind of salvation,” he shakes his head, voice high and whiny, “but the kind without a god. The kind of salvation that society speaks so much about--if a person can be redeemed of his past actions through some other means.”

I chew on his words for a moment, silence filling the gap between us--only then do I realize the rain has stopped. 

“I don’t necessarily believe in salvation,” I respond, “but I do think it’s possible for us to redeem our past wrongdoings, no?”

He sighs. “Camus says otherwise.”

“Camus?” I am amusingly surprised, “Albert Camus?”

“Yes,” his eyes lit up, “the one who wrote  _ The Stranger _ .”

“I’m surprised you know him,” I say. 

“What,” he scoffs, eyeing me sideways, “sensei thinks I’m just a brat who doesn’t know shit?”

“Don’t curse, Tendou,” I say, “and no, I never thought of you like that. I knew you were beyond smart-” to this he blushes, “-but I didn’t know you would know much about philosophy. After all, I would argue that no regular high schoolers dapple with existentialism, don’t you agree?”

“You’re correct, sensei,” Tendou perks up, the fog in his eyes clearing up as we speak, “no one understands but h--but sensei.”

“I wouldn’t speak so highly of myself,” I shake my head, “I barely know a thing about Camus either--other than his book.”

“Well, that’s enough for me,” Tendou flashes a lopsided smile, and snuggles up closer to me, “sensei at least knows what I’m referring to--that much I appreciate.”

“Well then,” I lean back in the chair, “tell me more.”

The evening slips through the cracks of our fingers as Tendou rambles on. Rarely does he get a chance to talk about something he is passionate about, so I let him. I let him speak wherever his mind takes him, and whenever he turns around to search for support in my eyes, I give it to him, nodding along. 

I truly underestimated Tendou’s understanding of subjects as difficult to understand as philosophy. He talks of the Algerian sea in Camus’ famous novel about murder, death and salvation, and curses humans for putting too much emphasis on finding a set “meaning” in their lives. “Salvation is in the moment where we live, not some stupid mathematical summation of all the ‘good’ subtracted by all the ‘bad’ we’ve committed,” so he explains with a grimace. His nihilistic view on the world seems to stem from a range of existentialist writers, from Camus to Sartre, and while I cannot say for sure the reason behind it, something is bugging me. But I take everything he says for what it’s worth, and enjoy the strange sense of peace.

Peace, huh? That is indeed something out of the ordinary. 

Tendou is in the middle of laughing off the actions of the main character in Camus’ story when his alarm on his clock goes off. He stills and shoots up from my lap. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-” he scrambles around the floor to get all of his clothes, then stops, and turns to look at me, “otousan would be home very soon so—sensei you need to leave.”

I take the cue with stride, and stand up to clean up the mess we both leave behind. In the middle of our rush to get rid of traces of evidence, we bump into each other occasionally and would steal a kiss with such desperation as if the parting today leads to no reunion tomorrow. Tendou giggles when we exchange the third kiss in a row, “you’re into this.” 

“So are you,” I answer. 

“He is going to be here any second,” Tendou pants, definitely not from his cleaning regiment as indicated by a suspicious set of blush appearing on his cheeks, “sensei, please go.” 

“I will,” I say, then before I can stop myself, I pull Tendou in with a hand behind his neck, and indulge in a wet and messy kiss. He moans against me, dropping the books he picked up on the floor, body once again leaning into mine. 

“Until next time,” I cut him off a little cruelly, the boy’s brows immediately slacking down with disappointment, “I promise.” 

The words seem to hit Tendou physically. He stills for a second, a wild look taking over the red eyes. He seems to be on the verge of either crying or laughing. But soon he recovers, and nods. He also insists on walking me to the front door. I put on my shoes at the genkan while Tendou watches in silence. I turn the door knob and step outside, turning around temporarily to say goodbye. 

“Don’t say it,” Tendou interrupts me before I even open my mouth, “please.”

“Alright,” I am caught off guard, but the look of vulnerability on Tendou’s face tells me that this isn’t one of his jokes. I then--having no good way to say my farewell--awkwardly nod at him, and turn around in time to hear the click of the door lock. 

Daylight has been long gone as the nightshade takes over, and the streetlights have been turned on. The fresh air after a thunderstorm is much appreciated in the city, so I decided to walk home, even though that would take me close to an hour. The cars that are taking people who are intent on rushing home pass by, the sounds of water splashing onto the sidewalk occasionally greeting me. I step around the puddles using the reflection of the streetlights, avoiding getting the hem of my pants wet. 

In times when I make motions that don’t require active attention, and only in times like this, do I let my thoughts roam free. And naturally, it goes to the one single topic it would always return to these days. 

Tendou spoke of salvation as if it is something beyond his consideration in life. It makes me wonder, if salvation means the same thing--if anything, to me. But then I think of him--for the first time today, in fact. My mind--as well as my body--has been engulfed in someone else completely. 

I think of his soft smiles with a purse of lips, his fingers running through my hair, and his back to me, facing the ocean. I think of his angry words spoken from trembling lips, his fingers pointing at me and himself, and his back to me, walking away. 

It would end badly, a voice in me whispers, they’re all the same. They all want the same thing. And that same thing lies beyond  _ you _ . 

I beg to differ and I want to argue with that voice, but I fail to do so. I only light a cigarette--the first cigarette of the evening. 

Lungs expand, then exhale. 

The smoke comes into contact with my eyes, and they water a little. 

Do you believe in salvation, sensei? 

  
Would it be such a crime to say yes? Would it be such a crime, Tendou, to say I want to save  _ you _ ? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _genkan_ : entrance of apartment/house  
>  _otousan_ : father
> 
> aaaaand after a whole two months im finally back w a new chapter! sorry for the wait bc i've been writing some stuff on the side as well, but i hope u enjoyed this ch! 
> 
> any kudos/comment get me writing _soooo_ fast (or as fast as i can)
> 
> come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison) and lets b frens :P


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